my qunari inquisitor is going to be very bemused by vivienne like
trying to get the mud out from under her claws
hanging flowers from her horns just to see what the fuss is about
stealing vivienne’s shoes and trying to cram her giant toes in
throwing them half a league when her feet won’t fit
blaming varric when viv gets angry
Qa’Azrin’s ears flicked.
The commotion above was getting closer, groans of pain and splintering wood, like a storm rolling through a valley. Perhaps it was a mutiny after all.
She shifted closer to the bars and stretched her toes, claws scraping gently against the filth that caked the floor. Grime bunched against the soft pink of her paws. She wrinkled her nose, but it did nothing for the smell, and tried to see the outside of her cell.
The breadth of the ship was lined with cages, identical to her own and housing at least three Khajiit slaves each, more in the case of cubs. It was too dark to see much detail, but the noise was causing agitation, especially amongst the weaker. She could smell it.
“Get away from the bars, Renrijra-Krin. You will have us killed.”
The air in the cage swirled thickly, and Qa’Azrin curled her tail around her bare legs. The speaker was a hulking black Cathay-raht, crouching in the corner and taking up far more than his share of the cage space. He growled beyond his stature, for there was clearly still down amongst his fur. Qa’Azrin bared her top teeth just slightly, ears flicking backwards. She watched through the bars.
“It is not a mutiny,” she said.
“You know for certain?” The voice dripped, arrogant.
“Unlike yours, tomcat,” Qa’Azrin hissed, “my ears flank a brain, not just empty space.”
The other rose onto his hind paws, cowed by the height of the cell, and Qa’Azrin pushed her leg out towards him, claws out as a guard, though her breathing did not falter. “There is one attacker,” she said, and delighted in the narrowing of his eyes. “It works alone.”
They fell silent for a while, and the storm rolled overhead, punctuated by quickly silenced screams. Qa’Azrin watched the gloom for movement, and heard the oversized kitten settle behind her, next to the emaciated body of their other cellmate. She was small and fair of skin, and not quite human enough to escape.
The corridor outside the cell suddenly flooded with light. Qa’Azrin shot up into a crouch. She pressed her muzzle between damp bars, tongue tight to the roof of her mouth so that she did not gag, and still she could not see. Hissing, she pulled back, sat, and listened, counting each slow footstep.
Qa’Azrin considered herself a decent judge of character. You had to be, in her line of work. And yet when the torchlight pooled about her cell, and a stranger crouched into her sight, she found she could not read one inch of the human’s face. A stare met her, hot as dragon fire.
It was a female. There was blood smeared about her face and on her hands, bright against the warm brown of her skin. She was dressed in rich Hammerfell purple and had kohl smeared underneath each eye, smudged from wear into the creases of her eyelid. Her chest heaved, and Qa’Azrin realised. This human was the mutiny.
Behind the bars, Qa’Azrin sniffed the stranger’s air. She was clearly a Redguard, wealthy, young, and yet there was something in the smell of her, something wild. She could gleam nothing.
The stranger looked at her, and smiled, fierce. “Sorry about the noise,” she said, casting a glance around at the other captives, crease in her thick brow. “There was a…difference of opinion.” She stood and dusted her breeches, raking back a great mane of frizzy hair, dampened with sweat. “Now, where are the keys?”
political activist steve is so important